Chapter 5 Livvie
LIVVIE
A single gunshot explodes into the night, slicing through Kingston’s words and sending my heart slamming into my ribs.
The bullet whizzes between us, the air shifting. My breath catches when his grip on my chin tightens, and his eyes darken as they sweep over my body.
“You okay?” he asks, the question rushed.
I nod. “Who was that aimed for?”
Kingston releases me, his movements swift, controlled violence simmering beneath his calm exterior. In one fluid motion, he reaches under his suit jacket, his fingers brushing aside the fine fabric to reveal a matte-black handgun holstered against his side.
He pulls it free, the weapon a natural extension of his hand.
His eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement. The sight of him, armed and ready to kill, sends a chill through me. A reminder of exactly the type of man I married and the world I’ll be free from.
Screams erupt from inside the ballroom. Glass shatters. Tables overturn. The music cuts out, replaced by the frantic shuffle of panicked guests. The terrace floods with armed men—both his and mine—moving like a coordinated storm, weapons raised, bodies primed for a war.
My security team surrounds me first, forming a tight circle, their guns drawn. Kingston stands a few feet away, his expression carved from steel as his men move into position around him, too, shielding the powerful Viacava leader.
For a moment, we lock eyes, our bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks of lust and adrenaline. My dress glitters under the moonlight, but underneath, my veins are full of fire, pumped full of anger from the reality of what just happened.
Roman barrels through the O’Callaghan security like they’re furniture, one arm slicing the air as he parts the circle and strides straight to me.
“Livvie,” he snaps. “Are you hit?”
I blink. “No—”
“Did you see where it came from?”
“No— Roman, I—”
His free hand comes up, strong fingers brushing down my shivery skin, checking for blood or signs of an injury. His handgun points to the ground and his suited body shields mine completely.
He backs me up a little, edging me away from Kingston’s line of sight and lowers his voice, meant only for me now. “You really okay, Liv?”
I stiffen, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t move because he doesn’t believe me. Why would he when he was the man in my bed months ago and now I’m eyeballs deep in this mess?
Roman’s jaw ticks, eyes locked on mine like he’s waiting for me to give him the green light to steal me away.
That’s never going to happen, so I take a step back. “Is my father okay?”
He nods. “The shooter was after the bride or groom. Or both.”
The chaos inside subsides. Yelling guests have calmed now that there are no more bullets flying. Shattered glass crunches under expensive shoes as a swarm of armed men in dark suits move through the ballroom, scanning for threats.
Our combined security teams call out in clipped voices, confirming each area is clear.
“Nothing on the east wing.”
“We have secured the south entrance.”
“No visual on the shooter.”
Over Roman’s shoulder, Kingston’s grip tightens around his gun, his gaze locked on our interaction with storm-dark eyes that hint of fury simmering in the depths.
The immediate danger may be contained, the mayhem corralled for now; however, the threat hasn’t disappeared.
It’s switched, radiating from Kingston himself like he’s daring Roman to cross the line so he can punish him for it.
He marches through the wall of men guarding me, shouldering the security team. His shadowed features are stern, but his energy crackles with authority.
Without hesitation, Roman moves between us, his loaded weapon ready.
Before I can react, Kingston wraps his big hand around my wrist and tugs me out from behind Roman.
“She’s my wife,” he says, his voice like gravel, deep and edged with a dangerous promise. “That means she’s under my protection from now on. Touch her again and I’ll throw you off the top of this hotel.”
Roman doesn’t move.
“Olivia Viacava is mine,” he continues. “Now fall back in line and do your job. Whoever aimed that bullet should be dead before sunrise.”
My pulse spikes at the sheer force of him, the way he looks right now—raw power in an expensive tux, broad shoulders tense, his dark hair a little mussed from the chaos. He’s lethal in his own right, and to my annoyance, devastatingly sexy.
But I refuse to be something he owns.
I yank my hand back, my jaw tightening.
Roman stands beside me, tense and coiled, his hand hovering near his weapon. His eyes shift between me and Kingston, considering just how far he’s willing to go. How fast he’d move so this turns bloody.
I reach out and lay a hand on his forearm. The fabric of his jacket is pressed tight over solid muscle, warm and taut beneath my fingers.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling.
He nods, his muscles tense and his body too damn close.
Kingston’s grip on my wrist tightens, reminding me he’s still there, still watching. And when I glance up, I find his gaze fixed on where my fingers still rest against Roman’s arm.
The look he offers Roman is pure, quiet violence.
Roman holds Kingston’s stare long enough to make it clear that whatever line exists between them, it’s razor-thin and fraying fast.
Then, with a final glance at me, Roman turns and starts barking commands to his team, his voice clipped and authoritative as he fans them out across the terrace. The O’Callaghan men respond to him like he’s the only voice that matters.
His hand briefly touches the comm in his ear and he scans the perimeter, his green gaze predatory.
Roman Keane is the best there is. And that’s the only reason my father forgave him for screwing his daughter and made him head of his personal security team instead of putting a bullet in his skull.
“As you can see, I have my own security, Kingston.” I emphasize his name like it’s venom. “I don’t need you taking over.”
His jaw ticks, but his eyes gleam, arrogance playing on his lips like he enjoys the fight. “Too late. I’ve already said my vows and taken over.”
“If we go home together, we’re a bigger target,” I snap, planting my hands on my hips. “Whoever did this knows exactly where you live. Splitting up makes it harder for them.”
“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Kingston crosses his arms, looming over me. “You think separating makes you safer? You think your team can protect you better than I can?”
“They’ve been doing it my entire life.”
“Well, congratulations, wife,” he drawls, voice thick with mockery. “That job’s mine now.”
Before I can spit back another retort, the terrace doors slam open.
A wave of silence ripples through the crowd as my father steps onto the terrace.
Cormac O’Callaghan.
Though he’s not as tall as most men, he’s broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp black suit, and radiates the same untouchable supremacy Kingston does. Except he’s colder, less patient with fools. Deep lines on his face tell stories of battles won and the enemies he had buried in cement.
His silver-threaded hair is neatly combed, but his rich brown eyes burn with barely restrained fury as he approaches.
“You’re going home with Viacava, Livvie. No arguments,” he says, running an eye over my dress, checking for signs of injury. “There’s more at stake here than your independence. Empires will crumble if you screw it up.”
My hands curl into fists. “I don’t need him to—”
He silences me with a glare. The kind that’s made grown men weep in the past.
“You’re his wife now. And that means you go with him.” His tone is absolute. Final.
I grind my teeth, hating the way I have to obey these men like a shiny object being passed from one to the other. Despite that, I know better than to argue with my father when he uses that tone.
He turns to Kingston, their eyes locking like wolves sizing each other up. “She’s your responsibility now, Viacava. I expect you to protect her as I would. Increase your staff and if you come up with any leads, let me know. I have my best man on it. If he can’t find the fucker, no one can.”
My stomach knots. He’s talking about Roman Keane.
Kingston nods once, unaware of my past.
“She’ll be with me twenty-four seven. You have my word. I’ll protect her.”
My father’s gaze cuts to me. “Focus on the honeymoon, Livvie, and post plenty of pictures for everyone to see the happy, believable couple.”
He lights up a cigar, satisfied with his input, and saunters back inside, leaving me standing there, fuming.
Kingston shifts closer, just enough to taunt me with his cologne and muscular build. He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. Then he smirks—cocky, provoking.
“See—I always get what I want, wife.”
I scowl at him. “Then ya should’ve married a woman who listens.”
He laughs, low and rich, and my belly swoops. “I like the one I got just fine.”
“Shame the feeling isn’t mutual.”
“Eventually, you’ll realize there’s no point fighting against this. Remember your vows? ’Til death do us part and all that bullshit. I’ll eliminate whoever took out a hit on us and that will ensure neither of us dies too soon. So grab your bags, wife. You’re all mine now.”